


things they never tell you

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 21:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8225294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: Kissing Paul is familiar, but every time they’re apart for a long period of time, there’s details that Antoine forgets and enjoys rediscovering.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluetears07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetears07/gifts).



> Dear giftee! Thank you for prompting this pairing, I really enjoy writing them and I hope you like reading this too.
> 
> As ever, thanks to Merc for the beta. You're a saint.

 

 

 

The house is mostly dark when Antoine drives in from the airport. His suitcase makes low thunking sounds as he drags it across the stairs up to the front porch. Someone’s left a light on above the door so he can see which key to use. There’s too many keys on his keychain these days. 

 

Too many homes.

 

He leaves the suitcase out in the hall, doesn’t feel like lugging it further up the stairs when there’ll be plenty of time for that tomorrow. The air conditioning is on, offering a relief from the muggy heat outside and the wooden floors feel pleasantly cool under his bare feet.

 

The kitchen is unchanged from his last visit, the polished floors and counters a testament to the dedication of their cleaning lady. There’s a jug of iced tea chilling in the fridge and he takes a glass, cataloguing the little signs that someone was there before him.

 

The coffee machine is plugged in and the toaster is out of storage. The fruit basket is full of all sorts of local fruit, and the fridge has little containers of berries. There’s crumbs on one of the counters and a barstool is moved out of position. 

 

It makes it looked lived in, even if it’s just a summer house.

 

Antoine pauses by one of the windows to look outside. It’s almost a full moon and the silhouettes of the trees look like figures, waving in the occasional breeze. The rose bushes are starting to bloom, and the garden probably looks beautiful, all sweet smelling flowers and tomato fruits barely touched by color. 

 

The house isn’t big, especially not by the standards of their neighbourhood, or compared to both their paychecks, but it’s got a big garden that a hired gardener looks after throughout the year. 

 

It’s not like they need so much space, just the two of them.

 

He makes his way up the stairs, grinning when they don’t creak under his feet. They’d recently had them renovated, but he hasn’t had the time to see the finished product yet.

 

The door to the sitting room is open and there’s faint music coming from the inside, so that’s the direction Antoine sets off in.

 

Paul is sprawled out on the lounger, a book open in front of him. He’s wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, the ones he never admits he needs, but that Antoine absolutely adores on him. He looks up when Antoine appears in the doorway and smiles. It’s a version of his usual exuberant smile, but it’s toned down and softened. The smile he reserves for Antoine especially.

 

It arrests the air in his lungs.

 

“Hey, you’re here,” Paul says, and usually Antoine would roll his eyes at him for stating the obvious, but it’s like suddenly all the journey’s caught up with him and he’s tired beyond belief.

 

Paul raises his arm and Antoine takes the unspoken invitation, crossing the room to snuggle under it. He presses his face against the soft cotton of Paul’s shirt, sighing into the warmth of his skin. Paul’s arm rests around his shoulder, tracing little circles on it with his thumb.

 

“Long plane ride?” Paul asks, and Antoine nods, presses closer to brush a kiss against his collarbone, nosing at the soft skin there. 

 

“I missed you,” he says, and doesn’t bother to be embarrassed by how plaintive his voice sounds. Paul laughs a little, and he can feel the vibration of it under his cheek. 

 

“I missed you too,” Paul says, and presses a kiss against Antoine’s hairline.

 

Antoine tilts his head up imploringly, but Paul doesn’t give in immediately, instead pressing kisses to his forehead and his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Finally, Antoine, who’s had enough, reaches up to cup his cheek and guides their lips together.

 

Kissing Paul is familiar, but every time they’re apart for a long period of time, there’s details that Antoine forgets and enjoys rediscovering.

 

Like how Paul moans when he tugs gently on his bottom lip, and how his stubble feels against his face, having grown out since his morning shave. Or like how he smells, fabric softener and the barest hint of cologne. Or the way the corners of his lips are always turned upward, like he can’t quite stop smiling.

 

How he kisses Antoine like they’ve got all the time in the world.

 

But it’s really been a long plane ride, and an even longer season and it feels like it’s all catching up to him now. 

 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Paul whispers against his cheek, “before you fall asleep on me. I trust my training regime but not enough to be able to carry you.”

 

Antoine mutters an incoherent protest against his mouth, but lets himself be heaved onto his feet, following blindly when Paul tugs him to the bathroom.

 

The shower wakes him up a little bit, especially when Paul drops his clothes and climbs in after him. They don’t actually do anything more except exchange a few soapy kisses, but it feels good to have Paul’s hands on his back, soaping it up. He’s missed this kind of touching, lazy and without intent. They see each other during the season, but it somehow always feels too rushed for things like this, always running out of time till the next training session or the next plane ride. 

 

Antoine gets out of the shower first, only to ambush Paul with a towel when he steps out, toweling him off vigorously up until Paul’s glare through the gap in the towel he’s wrapped in makes him burst out laughing. They brush their teeth side by side in the mirror, jostling playfully over who gets the sink first.

 

Antoine doesn’t bother with pajamas. It’s a warm night and Paul runs hot; wearing too many clothes would just leave him sweaty. From the corner of his eye he can see Paul doing the same, and then he stops looking from the corner of his eye to openly stare instead.

 

His boyfriend is beautiful, all long limbs and sculpted muscle. Paul’s got these long legs that are equally suited to scoring inch perfect free kicks as they are to wrapping around Antoine’s back to urge him closer when he goes down on him. And his ass-

 

“What are you looking at?” Paul interrupts his musings and Antoine snaps up, his cheeks warming. “Were you checking me out?”

 

“I can check out my boyfriend if I want to, can’t I?” Antoine says, a little defensive. This lasts up until Paul laughs and walks closer to wrap his arms around him, swaying their bodies together, right before he brushes his fingers against the spot on Antoine’s ribs that’s ticklish.

 

They drop onto the bed in a flurry of limbs and giggles, wrestling playfully. Antoine gains the upper hand eventually, sprawling triumphantly on Paul like an octopus. Paul doesn’t fight him, just goes limp, perfectly willing to be showered in all the kisses aimed in his direction.

 

Eventually, exhaustion catches up to Antoine again and they rearrange themselves into a position more beneficial to sleeping instead.

 

Curled up in their bed, with Paul spooned up behind him, his breath ruffling the hairs at the back of his neck, the last of the tension in Antoine’s shoulders seems to unwind, and he’s asleep between one breath and the next.

  
  


*

  
  


Antoine wakes up to an empty bed. 

 

He’s not too worried. Paul has always been an infuriatingly early riser. He rolls over onto his side instead, and buries his face in Paul’s pillow. He’s been here a week longer, so it already smells like him. Antoine makes himself comfortable, fully intending on napping a few more minutes, but then his stomach growls and that plan has to be abandoned.

 

There’s a perfectly functional set of his own clothes in the closet, but he digs through Paul’s drawers instead. He’s already unpacked, and Antoine chooses a pair of red shorts with the United logo on them and a faded white tank top he knows Paul has owned since he was in youth teams. He detours to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then downstairs where the radio is on and the sound of loud chopping can be heard.

 

Paul’s standing at the counter with his back to him, chopping fruit into a bowl. It’s probably the biggest bowl of fruit salad that Antoine’s ever seen. Then again, they’re professional athletes, so maybe he should have been making fruit salad in bowls like this all the time.

 

Paul seems to sense his gaze, because he turns around to grin at him, and Antoine’s heart does that thing where it warms and expands three sizes at the same time. It only ever does that around Paul.

 

“Well, look who’s woken from the dead. Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to help me with breakfast?” Paul asks.

 

“I dunno,” Antoine says thoughtfully, “the view is pretty good here.” He’s referring to Paul’s ass in very short shorts. But he does move, pacing across the kitchen to press against Paul’s back, his arms around his stomach, watching his nimble fingers as he fillettes an orange.

 

Paul laughs. “Oh, these?” he wiggles his butt, “If I knew they’d be so distracting I’d have worn them ages ago.”

 

Antoine snorts, but bypasses an answer by reaching over to take a swig from the glass of orange juice by Paul’s elbow. The first swallow hits the leftover toothpaste in his mouth and he grimaces. 

 

“It’s not like I spent half an hour squeezing that out or anything,” Paul says dryly. “And there’s a glass on the table for you.”

 

“Didn’t notice it,” Antoine says, planting a kiss on Paul’s cheek. He needs to stand up on his tippy-toes to do it, but he’s rewarded when Paul drops his knife and turns around so they can kiss properly.

 

“You know what I think?” Antoine says, then gets distracted by Paul sucking a hickey into his neck.

 

“What were you thinking?” Paul murmurs against his neck, moving downwards to press kisses to his collarbone.

 

“That’s...unfair…” Antoine says, breathless, “you’re distracting me.”

 

“You’re right,” Paul says, abruptly pulling back and smirking. “What were you saying?”

 

He turns back to the fruit salad, while Antoine makes frankly embarrassing whining sounds behind him.

 

“Do we have anywhere to be today? Any appointments?” Antoine asks, finally gathering some semblance of control back and moving to pull some bowls from the cupboard.

 

“Nothing for me. We have dinner with my parents in three days though,” Paul says, turning around in time to catch the lemon Antoine tosses him from the fridge.

 

“Okay, so, here’s my plan. We spend today in bed.”

 

Paul bursts out laughing. 

 

“We’re already up though?” he says. “Isn’t that cheating?”

 

“No! Mealtimes are excluded. We need to get up for those - crumbs on the sheets are gross.”

 

“How many times this season have you skyped me while eating on your bed?” Paul says, but Antoine ignores him.

 

“We have breakfast on the patio and then we go back to bed. We don’t even do gym today.” 

 

“No gym?” Paul raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Doesn’t Simeone instinctively know when you’re not completing your workouts? Do you want to take the risk of him busting down our doors?”

 

Antoine looks at him thoughtfully for a minute and Paul takes advantage to push a pair of spoons and a carton of yogurt into his arms, pointing him towards the patio door.

 

“You know, I think you’re probably making fun of me,” Antoine says, carrying obediently, “but you don’t know him as well as I do. He probably knows. So we’re making some time in the afternoon for gym. But the rest of it is bed, right?”

 

“You’ve convinced me,” Paul says fondly, throwing a knit tablecloth over the patio table, and pillows on the cast iron chairs. 

 

They carry the rest of the breakfast to the table in companionable silence, broken only by swearing as the bowl with the fruit salad somehow gets caught in the doorway.

 

Antoine admires their garden, now that the sun is shining. It’s early enough that it’s not too hot out and there’s a nice breeze. The roses are blooming in bright bursts of red, the last of the dewdrops clinging to their edges. The jasmine plant climbing the roof is filling the air with its sweet scent.

 

“I wonder if there are blue roses,” he says between bites of műesli. Paul looks up from his fruit salad. “We could ask the gardener to plant them in the shape of the Atleti crest.”

 

Paul chokes on a strawberry.

 

“Or maybe in the symbol for the French national team?” Antoine continues thoughtfully. “Hey! Why are you laughing?”

  
  


*

  
  


They do eventually make it back to bed.

 

There’s a rush to it that wasn’t there last night, shedding clothes quickly to curl up in already messed up sheets.

 

Antoine loves Paul like this, loves relearning his body, his curves and his lines, and the perfect expanse of his skin. There’s a scar on the side of his left knee that he doesn’t remember being there before, and small lines around his eyes when he smiles. 

 

Proof that they’re growing old together.

 

The thought slots warm in the middle of Antoine’s chest, expanding. He hides his face against Paul’s cheek instead, noting the softness and the whiff of aftershave. 

 

“You shaved?” he pulls back in surprise, taking a moment to look at Paul spread out under him.

 

“You were asleep for ages,” Paul says, smiling softly, He reaches out to brush Antoine’s hair out of his face, brushing his thumb against his cheekbone. “Besides, you go all red after, I figured I’d spare you.”

 

Antoine blushes thinking about it, the pink marks that appear on his neck, on his stomach, on his thighs. They don’t hurt, but-

 

“I don’t mind it,” he says softly, running his thumb over Paul’s full bottom lip. “I like feeling you, after.”

 

Paul groans, reaches out to pull him into a kiss. “You can’t say things like that and expect me to take things slow.”

 

“Then don’t,” is all Antoine gets out before Paul rolls them over, grinding their hips together messily. He kisses along Antoine’s neck and down his collarbone, and all coherent thought pretty much leaves him for the next few minutes. 

 

Until Paul hits a special spot right underneath Antoine’s ribs, startling a giggle from him.

 

“I forgot you were ticklish here!” Paul says, with obvious delight, and proceeds to blow a raspberry that has Antoine laughing louder. He tries to buck him off, but Paul won’t let him, locking in his calves around Antoine’s legs. He goes on offensive instead, reaching up to scratch his nails over the top of his spine. 

 

Paul bursts out laughing, loses balance and falls on top of him with an ‘oof’.There’s a moment of silence before they both start laughing, clutching at each other so they don’t fall over.

 

Antoine presses his wet giggles into Paul’s neck and tries to remember the last time he was this happy. Paul captures his lips through his own giggles and Antoine finds that he can’t remember anything but this, his chest heaving with laughter and the feel of Paul’s crooked grin against his mouth.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Let's throw as many domestic tropes at this as possible to disguise that it's essentially plotless.


End file.
